Five Times The Floor Was Not Lava
by Silverstar
Summary: ...and the one time it was.


_**I apologise for this monstrosity that was inspired by a) memes and b) tumblr. I couldn't get it out of my head, so here we are with it written.**_

* * *

It started on a Friday, officially. As with most internet trends that either die an overused death, or circle back around years later, it resurrected itself with all the grace and glamour of a phoenix. The memes of 2060 had evolved, that was a fact, but this was a _classic_ from the 2017-2018 years (with a previous reincarnation around 2032) and could not be tamed. It simply had to run its course before it grew old once more. Until it did so, John was forced to remove the key word of _lava_ from Thunderbird 5's scans of the airwaves and Gordon and Alan lost their camera privileges.

It began (as most things did) with Alan. As the resident teenager (Gordon had turned twenty the week before and was mentioning it at any given opportunity), he was obligated to spend the majority of his free time discovering new ways to entertain (read as torture) his brothers (Kayo and Penelope were too scary, and Grandma had the wooden spoon of doom at hand so she was a no go). Combine this important duty with the fact he was a seventeen-year-old living on an island in the middle of the South Pacific Ocean, and the internet became a necessity.

The internet was, and always had been, a dark and dangerous place. Each generation had always had their own specific jokes and culture, but since the dawn of the twenty-first-century, a new era crept forwards – the world of memes. After a certain while, practical jokes grew boring (plus they were Gordon's forte, not Alan's) and when John blocked him for spamming Thunderbird 5's servers with badly photoshopped images of cows on surfboards, Alan was forced to resort to scrolling through Twitter which, coincidentally, was when he discovered the rise of the lava (not literally: given that they lived on a volcanic island, that would be very unfortunate). It was a distant childhood memory resurfaced, which when combined with a camera and a variety of inspiration plastered across social media, promised nothing good for the other occupants of Tracy Island.

Armed with a camera, Alan slunk around the doorway of the lounge, still on the hunt for his immediate older brother. Given the late night (very early morning, some might say, but also known as _perfect plotting hours_) rescue previously, Alan had expected Gordon to still be asleep but had found his room empty – although he could still be asleep, simply elsewhere – Gordon was part-cat and could sleep anywhere, including that one time on the greenhouse roof during a storm back in Kansas. Yeesh. That was a bad memory.

"What're you doin'?"

Alan startled, catching sight of the speaker. Virgil was hunched over the counter nursing a mug of coffee (was that _pure black_? No cream or sugar at all? Wow, his brother was a sadist), practically smothered in a heap of blankets. It was a wonder he could still breathe under there.

"Looking for Gordon."

Virgil blinked at him blearily. "Why?"

"No reason."

"Sleep."

Alan frowned, trying to make sense of the remark. "Yes," he agreed slowly, well-practised in the art of speaking sleep-deprived Tracy. "Not sure what that has to do with anything, but sure, sleep is good. Sleep is very good. Actually, not when you turn the hallway lights on at like three in the morning. Can't you use a torch? Or maybe one of your glowstick things? Ooh, maybe we could put up fairy-lights instead and-"

"Shut up." Virgil yawned, almost face-planting into the countertop. "You're too…" He waved a hand in Alan's direction. "Bouncy. Awake. Go 'way."

Alan sidled closer, carefully hiding the camera behind his back. A tired Virgil was a grumpy Virgil, but also one who was quick to divulge important information, such as the whereabouts of a certain missing aquanaut. Virgil caught sight of his approach and tugged the blankets over his head until he was completely hidden, a pitiful whine pleading for mercy (or sleep. It was probably sleep, if Alan was honest with himself, but he preferred to imagine he was simply that terrifying).

"Virg." Alan prodded the blanket-mountain with one finger cautiously. "Virgil." There was a low growl of warning which he took as a green-light to keep going. "Where's Gordon?" A mumbled reply echoed from under the fabric which sounded like an insult that would have their Grandma horrified and brandishing the dreaded spoon at once.

Virgil finally lifted his head from the counter, hair askew and tiredness evident in the dark circles beneath his eyes. "Are you gonna leave me alone if I tell you?"

"I'll take it into serious consideration."

This appeared to be a good enough compromise. "He's in the den, behind the sofa. There's a pile of like four…five blankets. He's underneath them."

On any other day Alan would have paused and seriously questioned his brother's life choices. There was a perfectly good bed in his room with a memory-foam mattress none-the-less, yet he was opting for sleeping behind a sofa where anyone could turn on the TV and disturb him. With a whispered thanks to Virgil (in the form of draping the blanket back over his brother's head) Alan headed straight for the den, camera at the ready as he crept into the room.

The designated 'den' had originally been their gaming room. In a way it still was, but it was mostly used as their chill room, where Alan battled out games against various nerds across the world, and his brothers normally ended up talking or sleeping (pillow fights were also a regular occurrence).

The Den remained quiet, glimmers of light escaping through the drawn blinds to paint patterns over the carpet and TV screen. There were no sudden movements at the sound of Alan's approach, despite his purposefully heavier footsteps the closer he got towards the far side of the room, nudging a stray controller out of the way with one foot. He padded across the carpet and peered suspiciously behind the sofa at the blankets.

"Gordon?" He called, watching carefully for any signs of life. The blankets shifted slightly. "Hey. Wake up."

There was a mumbled reply, slowly growing clearer. "-k off."

Alan clapped his hands together gleefully, trying not to smirk. He considered drawing the blinds but even he was not that cruel. Well, that, and you know, Gordon had enough blackmail material on him to last a lifetime. Dragging back the blankets, he greeted his brother with a wide grin. "Morning."

Gordon glared at him pitifully, brows furrowed with both confusion and sheer annoyance. "I hate you."

"Guess what?"

"You're eloping with some girl you met online to Hawaii with two dogs and a green surfboard?"

Alan blinked. "That was oddly specific." Gordon's gaze drifted to the camera and realisation dawned with a growing sense of horror, coinciding exactly with the moment Alan gave the feared battle cry. "Floor is lava!"

With surprisingly fast reflexes given his recent state of sleep, Gordon made a dive for the back of the sofa, scrabbling at the cushions to try and pull himself up. One foot dangled dangerously close to the carpet and he let out a squawk, narrowly avoiding smashing his knee into Alan's nose.

"Move, brat!"

Alan cackled wildly, leaning forwards. "Hey, remember that scene in the lion king?"

"You're not Scar, that's my role!" Evidently the evil brother was a much sought-after role (it was mostly just an excuse to wreak terror on his siblings whilst claiming to be 'in character' during charades). Gordon pitched forwards, landing in a heap of sprawled limbs, catching Alan in the stomach with one foot. Alan doubled over, spluttering as he tried to catch his breath and found himself slipping off the edge of the sofa.

"Ha!" Gordon sat up triumphantly, shoving Alan onto the carpet, only to have his wrist grabbed, pulling him down to land with a heavy thud on the floor. For a moment there was silence as the two attempted to catch their breath and Alan fumbled with the camera to stop the recording.

"So."

Alan tilted his head back to glimpse Gordon's mischievous expression. "Yeah?"

"Is this a thing now?"

"Floor is lava?"

"Yeah."

"I guess so."

Gordon leant back against the sofa cushions, rubbing the last remnants of sleep out his eyes. There was no time for sleep when there was plotting to be done. "Then we've gotta get the others. Who's our next victim?"

"John's back on Wednesday."

"Awesome."

* * *

As it turned out, John was not the next victim. Alan should really have been expecting it – Gordon was never one to let things go, especially when they involved humiliation caught on camera.

Late Tuesday night, Alan finally gave up his lost cause of sleep and traipsed into the den, shrugging on a hoodie that seemed far too large to be his. The TV blinked into life at a single wave, the motion sensors recently reprogrammed by their resident scientist. Cool blue light illuminated the room, shadows pooling in the corners and lapping at the sofas. Alan made a beeline for the central one, kicking his legs out in front of him and reaching for his usual controller, with the flecked red paint and bitemarks in the corner from where he'd got frustrated.

The game kept him busy, but something kept distracting him, a cold shiver running down his spine as he felt eyes burning into his back. One hand on the controller (greatest weapon ever…not), he spun around to the sound of the door brushing against the carpet, only to find the doorway empty. Frowning, he returned his attention to the screen as the game loaded, drawing his knees up to chest as he leant back against the sofa cushions, the green fabric of the hoodie falling low across his wrists and legs. Every now and then, movement would catch his eye, but with growing frustration he found the room empty every time he checked.

"Hello?"

He hit pause and scrambled to his feet, the controller falling from his lap to the carpet with a dull thump. The TV flickered and with his heart pounding in his throat, Alan fumbled for the light switch.

"This is fine, totally fine, I fly into space like four times a week, if I can do that then this is fine…" Light flooded the room at the same time as someone leapt over the back of the sofa, landing neatly at his feet with surprising skill given the late hour. It was hard to tell who was more shocked; Alan, with his self-built pebble catapult pointed at the intruder's forehead, or the aforementioned intruder who had not been expecting such a response.

"Gordon?"

"Alan?"

Alan dropped the pebble-catapult back to his side, sighing. "You scared the hell out of me."

"_I_ scared _you_?" Gordon stared at him incredulously, gesturing wildly towards the catapult. "You almost _shot _me! Since when do you carry that around with you?"

"Since the Mechanic." Alan shrugged, seemingly nonplussed before his gaze caught on the camera. Gordon followed his line of vision down to the object and smirked.

"Floor is lava."

"I hate you, you _asshole…_" Alan spun on the spot, Gordon blocking his route to the sofa, recognising he was trapped. With only seconds to spare, he made the definitely logical decision to jump onto the TV stand. Wind-milling his arms frantically to catch his balance, realisation dawned on them both at the same time. Two pairs of eyes stared, horror-struck, as Alan's hand connected with the TV screen and, as if in slow motion, it began to fall.

In any other household, it probably would have been alright. The carpet was plush, providing plenty of covering, and the height it had fallen was truly not that great. However, this was the Tracys and bad luck, according to John, ran in their blood. The TV smashed into the floor with a thunderous crash which echoed past the open door and throughout the rest of the villa, tiny shards of glass scattering across the carpet.

Alan slowly lifted his gaze from the carnage to make eye-contact with Gordon, who was steadily growing paler. "Um…" He floundered for words. "It might not be that bad?"

Gordon nudged the TV with one socked foot and grimaced. "Oh yeah," he muttered, "It's that bad. Congrats short-stop, you _wrecked_ it. This is all on you by the way. I claim no responsibility."

"You made me do it!"

"I didn't control your mind or shove you into it."

Alan opened his mouth to retaliate, sky-blue eyes shining with fury, catching himself as the sound of footsteps could be heard in the distance. Leaping from the stand, he landed lightly on the other side of the site of destruction, making a mad dash for the door to escape the scene of the crime. Gordon gave a full-on war cry and launched himself after his brother, skidding on the tiles of the hallway in his socks.

"Get back here!"

Alan pelted away towards the kitchen, and probably would have escaped both his brother's wrath and any certain accountability for the TV's destruction had he not crashed into the sleep-deprived sibling investigating the source of crash.

"Hi Scott." Alan made to duck under his brother's arm, but Gordon seized the back of his hoodie, tugging him back and practically shoving him against the wall.

"He did it."

Scott stared at them both. "Do I even want to know what you've destroyed this time? Is it expensive?"

Gordon exchanged a glance with Alan. Their silent communication skills had been built up through a lifetime of practical joke team-ups and rescues, and Alan relaxed with the understanding that his bother wasn't going to rat him out.

"That's debatable. In comparison with, say, the swimming pool, I'd say no, but in comparison with a pencil, yes, so really..."

Scott dragged a hand across his face, fighting back a yawn. "Gordon, what did you break?"

"You don't want to know," Alan interjected.

"Fair enough." Scott cast a suspicious glance over them both. "It's two in the morning, go to bed."

* * *

Wednesday dawned with Alan being sent off on rescue to the Mars base (a research rover had flipped trapping the crew in a crater with a hastily depleting oxygen tank), leaving Gordon to carry out their plan with a promise to send him a live-feed. This all led to this moment; Gordon stood waiting for the space-elevator to dock, shooting the nearest security camera (connected directly to Thunderbird 3) a knowing look.

Virgil was staring at him.

"What?"

"You're plotting something."

Gordon gave an exaggerated gasp of mock-horror. "Me? Plotting? Never."

"You're tapping."

Gordon glanced down and realised that he was, in fact, tapping, and forced his feet to stay still. "I always tap," he replied, shoving his hands into his jeans pockets in case Virgil caught sight of him fiddling with the hem of shirt again. "Or move. That's my thing, c'mon, you know this."

"You tap when you're stressed, on rescue, or plotting." The space elevator dock chimed with a final approach warning, drowning out Virgil's next words, but the suspicious gleam to his eyes hinted that he had been busy psychoanalysing his brother further. Gordon shifted a little to the left, just in case.

"I'm not plotting, I'm just very excited for my favourite brother to get back."

Virgil's eyes widened in realisation. "Oh, thank God, you're torturing John, not me."

"Wow. Such love. Truly selfless."

"Oh, shut up."

Gordon sniggered, but made a point of keeping a straight face when the space elevator finally docked. John (none the wiser of the previous conversation and scarily good at self defence since the crash course Kayo and Penelope had forced him on) instinctively brought one hand up, blocking the camera that Gordon immediately shoved towards him.

"Why?" John frowned at the camera and then back at Gordon.

With slightly too much eagerness, Gordon declared the fatal words: "Floor is lava."

Out of all his brothers, John was the one who Gordon expected to stare point blankly at him and announce '_no'_ (like his reaction following the self-proclaimed 'flamingo incident' that Virgil had ordered they should never speak of), so needless to say it was a surprise when he full on bolted for the railings, pulling himself up to perch on the top with as much skill and ease as a professional acrobat.

"Okay, _what_ just happened?" Somewhere to his right, Virgil had started laughing. "Since when can you do…" He waved his hands in John's direction. "_That_."

"I have a lot of free time."

Alan's hologram sprung up from Gordon's watch, not even waiting for an acknowledgement of his presence before he began speaking. "What did I just witness?" In the background Virgil had apparently forgotten how to breathe and his laughter had dissipated into amused squawks.

"John's a cat."

"Can I get down yet?" John slid down from the railings. "Actually, I'm not waiting for an answer. Also, if you want to surprise me in the future then you might want to remember that I can see everything that's being linked to the Thunderbirds from Tracy Island."

"_Alan_." Gordon hissed. "This is all your fault. You _had_ to see it live, didn't you?"

"Relax. Scott's next, and he has no clue."

* * *

It was unclear whether Scott was aware of the goings-on around the island. He'd been non-stop running rescues before taking care of Tracy Industries meetings (there was a new deal being organised and while John handled most of the company they still needed a representative there in person – Virgil had never really got involved in the business beyond his shares, and both Gordon and Alan were too young which just left Scott, who spent most of his time ignoring the board of directors and mourning the fact he was missing out on quality surfing time). Needless to say whenever he had been at home, he'd spent all of it either asleep or catching up on missed meals. Never let anyone say that saving the world and being a responsible adult wasn't time consuming.

With the deal finally secured and a distinct lack of rescues, Scott finally got some down time. Without even stopping to grab something to eat, he headed straight for his room and then slept. Continually. For the next twenty-four hours.

"Wow, I was actually beginning to wonder if you'd died in there," Virgil greeted him as he emerged into the kitchen, blinking in the bright light of the afternoon sun. The air-con had gone down again, and a chorus of shrieks revealed that the Terrible Two were in the pool, the outraged cry that followed suggesting that John had been dragged in too.

"Did you sedate me?" Scott's words were half muted by the fridge that he was currently scouring for leftovers, but Virgil caught the question with a chuckle.

"No. You almost forced me to it, though."

"I wasn't _that_ bad."

"John and I were about to sign you off flying One. Yeah you were bad." Virgil paused in slicing up fruit, pointing the knife at him threateningly. "Sleep deprivation is not a joke, Scott."

"Speak for yourself. Did you get in a barfight or are you just that tired?"

Virgil huffed, rubbing at the dark circles beneath his eyes and slid the plate of fruit across to his brother. "Vitamins. Eat."

There were strawberries and passionfruit involved – Scott wasn't about to complain. He explained the deal he'd been all but drowning in at Tracy Industries to his brother (Virgil had the decency to pretend to look interested) before tucking into a bagel, feeling more like himself than he had in weeks. Alan appeared in the sliding doors, dripping wet from head to foot, tugging off his sodden shirt and aiming it at Virgil's head.

"Hey Scotty!" Virgil stomped away to his art studio, muttering about idiotic younger brothers with no sense of respect, leaving Alan sniggering as he slid onto the chair next to Scott. "How was the business trip that I definitely understand everything about?"

"Deal to secure a new asset, loads of boring old guys on the board glaring me, missed a load of surfing time but International Rescue funds are safe still."

Alan listened to the summary intently, knocking his heels against the counter top and stealing a strawberry from Scott's plate. "Cool. Did you know John learnt foundation gymnastics?"

Scott observed the aforementioned brother avoid Gordon's jab and lightly trip the aquanaut into the pool in a single fluid motion. "Somehow that really doesn't surprise me."

"It's weird. He's like a cat. Gordon filmed it."

This truly should have been Scott's warning sign. Gordon never filmed anything without a good reason and said reason normally involved a prank or anything that resulted in his siblings' humiliation. The gleeful look Alan was sporting suggested that he had been in on it. Yet for some reason Scott caught this, but still let it slide.

He was heading across the lounge to check in on the hologram of global emergencies when Gordon yelled his name from the doorway. John had apparently escaped for the final time and Gordon was quickly moving onto a new target. It was when Scott turned around to spy Alan with a camera that he realised this had been pre-planned.

"Floor is lava!"

For a beat of about half a second, Gordon genuinely thought Scott was going to take a running jump for the sofa, before he flopped down face first onto the carpet like a beached whale.

"Uh, Scott?" Gordon poked him with one foot. "You're in the lava. You're dead."

"Honestly just kill me now," came the muffled response. "I welcome the void."

Alan collapsed beside him with an exaggerated wail of despair. "Scott, no!"

Behind the three of them came a slow clapping. "Well," John began. "If this doesn't summarise our family perfectly then I don't know what does."

* * *

Virgil preferred physically creating something, such as music with his piano, or painting, to the supposed wonders of the internet. He lived in the year 2060 and it was impossible to not leave some sort of footprint across the wide-web (the dark days of his emo past were not to be mentioned), but for the most of his free time he avoided it like the plague and ignored Gordon's clamours for him to watch whatever strange video the younger of the two had discovered.

Still, when Gordon and Alan had spent much of their week shrieking '_floor is lava' _at each other and attempting to capture the results on film, he was not entirely oblivious of the events unfolding across the internet. He kept to himself, ignored his brothers' antics, and focussed on the rescues.

The kitchen was open plan, with the only hiding spots behind the counter, and tucked out of sight by the island. Virgil hovered by the corner of the counter, trying to sneak a glance over the top of the island for any lurking siblings. John had called him directly, sending him on a solo rescue that had lasted from the early hours of the morning until late lunch-time which led into yet another call-out and needless to say by the time he returned he was _starving_. There were two main threats he had to evade: Grandma's cooking and the Terrible Two's camera.

He crouched lower and raked a searching gaze across the length of the cupboards. There were no visible lenses glinting in the dim light, but he knew first-hand how sneaky Gordon could be. He took a cautious step into the kitchen and froze, anticipating the shout that never came.

"Hello?"

Virgil edged closer to the designated snack cupboard, hesitating in front of the fridge. While logically a sandwich would be more filling, he was craving the less than healthy delights of the shelves to his left.

Something clattered to the ground and he jumped, spinning on his heels and glaring as ferociously as he could muster at the culprit. MAX blinked at him, the shutters across his camera whirring at the motion, careering back at the sudden movement. Virgil sank back against the counter, rubbing the blurriness from his vision and clumsily landing a hand to the robot's head.

"Sorry, MAX."

There was a reassuring beep.

Armfuls of snacks retrieved, Virgil bade a hasty retreat. He had nearly made it to the safety of his studio (he had an idea for a new painting he had to get down on paper before it fled his mind forever) when a pair of gleaming eyes appeared out of the darkness. Virgil gave a startled yelp, a bag of Lays dislodging from the snack pile and landing at his feet with a sad rustle.

Alan emerged from the gloominess of the corridor so that he could be seen by the warm glow of the studio that shone like a beacon of safety behind the door. "Hey Virg, whatcha doing?"

Virgil stared at him dead-pan. "No."

"No what?"

"No, I'm not going to turn into spider-man and leap onto the ceiling just because you announce the floor is lava and I know that's what you expected because where else would I go?" He swung his arms around to gesture at the empty corridor.

Alan blinked, the picture of innocence. "Well obviously you're not gonna pull off the Spidey moves." He considered that thought for a moment. "That would be John, with his creepy long limbs."

"I'm sure he'd love to hear that."

"Actually, I was just checking in to ask how your rescues went, but now that you mention it…" Virgil watched his youngest brother with a dawning sense of pure dread mixed with resignation as Alan lifted his hands to his mouth and let out a howl that even a true wolf would be proud of. There was an answering screech from the other end of the corridor and Gordon barrelled out of the darkness, tossing the newly titled camera-of-doom to the blond, just in time to crash into the opposite wall.

"Floor is lava."

Virgil remained standing. There was a part of him that just wanted to ignore their antics, but the competitive Tracy streak in him was determined to outdo them. So, he made a leap for Gordon, colliding with him with enough force to send him crashing to the floor with an audible thump, clambering onto his back and glaring at the camera with the ferocity of a rabid mountain lion.

"Next."

Alan lowered the camera, gaping at him. Gordon made a pitiful scrabble against the floor to free himself, still sprawled across the hallway at Virgil's mercy. Virgil took pity on him and stepped off, offering him a hand up which Gordon accepted, scrambling to his feet and breathing heavily since being crushed by his bear of a brother.

"You knew we were coming," Alan whispered as if he'd been told the secrets of the universe.

Virgil collected his snacks from the floor, mourning the crushed Lays. "Yep. I was the only person left."

"You _stood_ on me!" Gordon was flushed with outrage, rubbing at his lower back. Virgil shrugged, opening the door to his studio.

"Survival of the fittest bro, survival of the fittest."

Gordon exchanged a look with Alan. "Don't you dare."

"I'm gonna laugh."

"I'm gonna kill you."

* * *

It was rare to have such an extensive rescue that it required all the team, but the volcanic eruption above a highly populated town (city, Gordon argued) that already been practically levelled by an earthquake was really a cause for all hands-on deck. While Scott as their Field Commander ultimately made the decisions, John was busy coordinating from Thunderbird 5 and after six hours of non-stop hard work they were all reaching the end of their tethers.

Scott was working at clearing the debris from the windows that led onto the fire escape of one of the apartment blocks when he heard a growl of pure frustration across the comms link. A confused glance across at Virgil who was busy lifting a frightened pair of twins from the partially collapsed house opposite revealed that his brother had also heard it.

"Uh, John? You good there?"

"Readouts are going crazy again." There was a muffled thump from the radio and Scott winced. "I keep losing your signals. More aftershocks headed your way in roughly five. Probably should clear section Three-B."

"Gordon's closest," Virgil interjected. "If you can't get a reading on whether there's still people trapped then send him across to liaise with fire-and-rescue."

There was an exasperated sigh. Scott stifled a laugh – John was by no means a control freak, but he definitely disliked being unable to help. "FAB."

Twenty minutes later had them once again split into teams, with Scott and Virgil taking the west of the town and Gordon and Alan taking the east ("_ultimate team up, hell yes." "_Alan, behave."). There had been about five minutes of relative radio silence save for John's updates on the state of the current volcanic eruption and the other rescue teams, when a startled gasp echoed across the link.

Scott sat up from where he was crouched amongst the debris, his laser cutter steadily slicing through a structural support beam. "What? What's wrong?"

There was a muttered curse, then Alan's hologram appeared above his watch. "Guys, the floor is lava."

There was a crash as Virgil slammed his foot through part of the debris in frustration. "Who thought it was a good idea to put the Terrible Two together out on rescue?" He shot a pointed look at Scott.

"This isn't a game, there are lives at stake here. You need to behave responsibly and act mature or I'll take you both off duty, final warning." Scott ran a hand through his hair, and it returned dark with ash. "We're all tired, can you _please_ just focus on your jobs?"

"No, Scott," Gordon's avatar appeared next to his brother's, helmet flickering with the reflection of something amber. "It's literally lava. As in the doorway gave way and while we trying to cut our way out it came through the back wall. The floor is genuinely covered in lava."

Alan's laugh was somewhat hysterical. "Karma's a bitch."

The comm link crackled with static and the holograms disappeared. Scott slammed his hand against the silver sash of his uniform, activating his jetpack as the controls swung into place. "Virgil?"

"Go get them, I'm good here." Virgil huffed a brief laugh, helmet and uniform smeared with ash. "Not exactly my first rodeo."

The flight across the ruined streets was short but lasted long enough to both serve a detailed idea of the sheer scale of destruction wreaked by Mother Nature and allow Scott to get very, _very_ worried. The lack of response to the radios was also not helping his cause.

"C'mon Gordon, pick up." Alan's tracker was offline; John had reported a minute previously. Scott landed on the roof of the building, skidding to a halt amongst the suffocating layer of ash, vibrations from the tremors in the room below feeding information back to Thunderbird 5 through the receptors in his gloves. It was hard to see – above him the sky was dark with the looming mass of ash from the volcano – and he tapped the inbuilt torch on his uniform sash, grimacing as it became clear that finding the access hatch into the building from the roof was not going to be an option.

"Okay." He gripped the laser cutter firmly, eyes narrowed. "Time for Plan B. I'm not about to be beaten by a goddamn _roof_." Red light bled through the increasingly thick air, melting cold metal into molten liquid that dripped away into the angrily bubbling sea of lava below, splashing against the concrete pillars and sinking acrid claws into the pockets of air left. The bright blue of International Rescue uniform was clear to spot amongst the scorched amber, despite being smeared with ash and mud, and it had never been a more welcome sight. "Alan! Gordon!"

Gordon tilted his head back, grinning lazily up at him as though they'd been caught sunbathing rather than clinging to a ledge halfway up a wall dangling above a pool of death. "Hey Scott," he greeted. "Believe us now?"

Alan, naturally, had to say it. Crouched on the relative safety of the roof, he grabbed at Scott's arm, pointing back at the lava visible through the gap and announced with the most triumphant grin he could muster: "Look Scotty – floor is lava!"

* * *

_**I'm...so sorry.**_

_**...no, I'm still gonna ask... review?**_

_**Kat x.**_


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